


you're lucky to be in a job

by putthatbottledowngrantaire



Series: days in the life [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putthatbottledowngrantaire/pseuds/putthatbottledowngrantaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire pretty much hates his job.  It’s tedious.  It’s boring.  It’s repetitive. It hardly even pays well!</p><p>Okay, that’s a lie.<br/>But it’s still crappy.</p><p>His friends also suck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're lucky to be in a job

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after work... can you tell?

Grantaire pretty much hates his job. It’s tedious. It’s boring. It’s repetitive. It hardly even pays well!

Okay, that’s a lie.  
But it’s still crappy.

Every shift all he does is tidy racks of clothes – putting them in size order and making sure that the hangers look neat; each one a finger’s width from the next one in the line. He goes to the fitting rooms every now and then to take the unwanted clothes from there back to their proper homes. And does the same thing again; size order, finger width. Constantly, endlessly. After while looking at a rack is like staring in to the abyss; his movements become habitual, a sad kind of muscle memory.

He remembers getting the job two years ago and being so excited about earning money. Courfeyrac whooped and was equally excited that his friend would have some extra money lying around – ‘Just in case,’ Courfeyrac said. 

‘Just in case what?’ Jehan asked, amused.

Courfeyrac merely shrugged with an unreadable look on his face, making Jehan very suspicious of what the case may be as his mind wandered over the many possibilities.  
Combeferre told Grantaire that it was a good thing to do; that it would be good for his experience in a workplace and money was never a bad thing. Combeferre was perhaps even a little proud that Grantaire had got himself a job considering he was the one who wrote up his friend’s resume. 

Jehan was just glad that his roommate was a) going to be able to consistently contribute to the upkeep of their flat and b) that Grantaire was going to be out of trouble, at least for the times of his shifts.

Enjolras, during the conversation, had had a look on his face that was almost confused – that would have been confused if gods were capable of such an emotion. He didn’t really understand why Grantaire needed a job.

‘Haven’t your parents promised to pay for your education? And don’t they pay most of the rent?’ the blonde had asked, ‘That’s school and home – what else are you supposed to need?’

Combeferre rolled his eyes and gave Enjolras a sympathetic pat on the back, only causing Enjolras to become slightly more confused and a tad frustrated.

Grantaire cringed at the reminder of how much his parents forked out for him. He was studying Art for Christ’s sake – it shouldn’t cost as much as it does surely. It wasn’t like he was studying Medicine like Joly, or Law like pretty much all of the rest of his group. It was fucking art!

‘Yeah well, can’t have them paying for everything all the time. They already pay for so much shit – I can at least buy my own drinks, I reckon’

‘Oh, of course...’ Enjolras says, disappointment edging into his tone – Enjolras never appreciated remembering how much his friend drank. He liked being reminded of it as much as Grantaire liked the mentions of his parents.

Now in hindsight, maybe Grantaire should have quit drinking. If it was just school and the flat then this job wouldn’t be all that necessary. He could get a job that paid less but provided slightly more mental stimulation like, who knows? Bowling lane attendant? Parking meter inspector? Fucking crossing lady? Anything else, he thinks as he places a top back in the women’s section – a top he is certain he has already put away four times in the last hour and a half.

A customer comes up and asks if he knows if the store has any yellow singlets – he is almost ashamed to admit that he does know, and in fact he knows exactly where they are located, how many variations of yellow they have and how much they cost. There are some things in life that a person doesn’t really need to know; one of these things happens to be the location of canary yellow tops.

He still has three hours left in his shift. God have mercy.

The least his boss could do is change the CD that plays over the speakers. It’s been the same one for three months. No-one should be forced to listen to the same seventeen songs for three months. Grantaire knows them so well by now that he even can anticipate the next track on the album. He knows the fucking order; and almost punches himself in the face when he catches his voice treacherously singing along again to Fergie’s ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry’. The groan he lets out instead of self harm gets him a worried look from a passing shopper, decided to quickly the tall shaggy-haired employee who may spontaneously transform into a Wookie if the noise he just made is anything to go by.

An hour later, Grantaire is allowed to go on his fifteen minute break. He collapses into a chair in the tea-room and places his head on the cold surface of the table for a moment, taking a deep breath and focusing hard on why he is here. 

_Money is good. Money is helpful. Money is food and booze_. The mantra plays in his head. He swears when he is paged to the registers that his fifteen isn’t up; yet he goes anyway. 

One hour, forty-five left. 

One hour, forty-four left.

One hour, forty-three left.

One hour, forty-tw- _oh shit, is that Courfeyrac?  
Oh shit no. _

 

The brunette head bobs above the racks, searching for the familiar face of Grantaire. If it weren’t for a customer walking up to him and demanding where they could find a manager, Grantaire was seriously considering diving under a row of conveniently placed dresses. He didn’t obviously, and yep. He’s been spotted.

Courf isn’t alone. Grantaire is _this close_ to curling up in a ball when he sees two more heads join Courfeyrac – the bald one of Bossuet and that bloody blonde one.  
In two years, Enjolras has never come in to visit him; until now.

Enjolras walks along behind as Courfeyrac barrels up to Grantaire, sliding along the polished floors in his shoes, and coming to a stop with a stumble in front of Grantaire. An exasperated looking Grantaire.  
Enjolras looks almost amused. Grantaire really hates him. Truly.

‘The entertainment committee has arrived!,’ Courfeyrac declares after his recovery.

‘Go away. You aren’t wanted.’

‘Lies.’

Grantaire just takes a deep breath and lets his head fall back to stare blankly at the ceiling. This could only end badly.

It wasn’t like Courf hadn’t been in before. In fact, that’s why he knows it will end badly. Courf _has_ been in before.

‘You better make sure my boss doesn’t see you. She still fucking hates you’

‘Oh come on! Not even that many baubles broke! It wasn’t my fault Bossuet fell!’

Bossuet looks slightly guilty. Grantaire deadpans, ‘You threw a ball at him when he was standing in front of the Christmas tree.’

‘The fact that anything broke was bad enough, Courf,’ Enjolras pipes up, still smirking over Courfeyrac’s shoulder, having heard this story and its repercussions each Christmas since.

‘Whatever,’ Courf waves them all off, dismissing their judgements on events.

At that moment Grantaire gets called to empty the clothes from the fitting rooms. He places a finger of Courf’s chest, ‘Dont. Move’ punctuating each word with a hard poke. ‘Keep him here and out of trouble,’ he says over Courf’s shoulder to Enjolras, who nods once in recognition. Courfeyrac only winks at Grantaire as he trudges away.

It takes twenty minutes to put away the clothes, Grantaire having to go to every corner of the store. He spends half the time in Children’s ware. Stupid Children’s ware.

He heads back to where he left Courf and the other two. To his immense surprise they are still there. Rather than reduce the suspicious feeling in his stomach, it only increases. 

Courfeyrac stretches out his arms in an almost innocent gesture, like he is saying ‘Look at me, still here and being well-behaved and all.’

Courfeyrac yawns, ‘You’re no fun today. I’m going to take my money elsewhere.’ And with that he dramatically turns on his heel and sticks his nose in the air, strutting off back towards the door. Bossuet shrugs at Grantaire and smiles, following the bobbing brunette head out of the store.

Enjolras stays for a moment. ‘So, this is where you work’

‘Yep’

‘This is your job’

‘Oui’

‘Nice uniform,’ Enjolras finishes, pulling a slight face, a fine line appearing between his eyebrows like he is contemplating something. He gives a little wave and jogs after Bossuet and Courf.

Grantaire stands confused and looks down at his clothes. Black skinny jeans – the ones that always make Eponine slap his arse as he walks past; his company shirt – which, look, probably fits a bit tighter than it should but Grantaire likes making some of the more conservative customers uncomfortable. Surely that’s not what Enjolras meant by liking his uniform.

_It was a joke. Not some kind of compliment. Get a grip._

Grantaire ignores the butterflies in his tummy and shakes it off, going over to the neaten up the racks. He looks at them for a moment, trying to figure out why they look strange...

He gets it.

Someone has rearranged all of the hangers so that they are no longer in anything that resembles size order. 

This is deliberate. There is a special circle in hell for people that do this.

Grantaire is going to kill Courf and Bossuet when he gets his hands on them; and Enjolras shouldn’t consider himself untouchable just because he is perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be a Courf or I have license to throw something at you if I see you changing the order of all the hangers... You've been warned...
> 
> Thankyou for reading lovelies <3  
> Come and have a chat on my tumblr, putthatbottledowngrantaire.tumblr.com or say hello on my Les Mis blog, supervirginenjolras.tumblr.com
> 
> Prompts, comments, messages - anything and I will adore you forever - I get very bored at Uni, take pity!


End file.
